


You Found Me

by cumberperson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, John - Freeform, John Watson - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, JohnxSherlock, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, SherlockxJohn, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, holmes - Freeform, stupid sherlock, ugh sherlock you're so blind, watson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 00:12:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumberperson/pseuds/cumberperson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rather fluffy Johnlock based off the song "You Found Me" by The Fray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Found Me

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Sherlock, the characters belong to their original owners and the song lyrics are from "You Found Me" by The Fray.

I found God on the corner of 1st and Amistad,  
Where the West was all but won,  
Smoking his last cigarette.  
I said, “Where you been?” He said, “Ask anything.”

 

John Watson had been searching for Sherlock all night. Since Sherlock had reappeared three years after faking his death, John had been especially careful to make sure that Sherlock never got out of his sight.

He’d only drifted off for a moment before waking up the only person in the flat. Ten seconds later, he was donning his coat and hurrying down the steps. If only Sherlock were more predictable. He could be anywhere in London, John thought.

John called him first, getting Sherlock’s voicemail. He should have known better, really- Sherlock wouldn’t want to be found, leaving at this time of night.

John hurried down the street, turning corners that Sherlock frequented. He couldn’t decide whether Sherlock would actually take roads unfamiliar to John, or if he would take his normal roads just to spite him.

John decided on the latter, because it seemed exactly like the sort of trick he would pull. For someone who went to so much effort to be mischievous and secretive, Sherlock could be so transparent.

He discovered Sherlock three blocks away, standing on the corner and smoking, eyes closed and posture more relaxed than usual. John ran to him. “Where the hell have you been?” he asked, his words suggesting anger, but his tone only concerned. “I’ve been looking all over.”

“Ask anything but that.” Sherlock answered, opening his eyes and looking at John.

 

Where were you when everything was falling apart?  
All my days were spent by the telephone that never rang,  
And all I needed was a call  
That never came to the corner of 1st and Amistad.

 

Something in John snapped, his patience demolished by the nonchalance- no, the heartlessness of his voice. “Well, Jesus, Sherlock. Why did you fake your death and not tell anyone? Why did you leave me alone? Why are you so goddamn reliant on cigarettes, but not on me?” he snatched the cigarette from Sherlock and dropped it on the ground, putting it out with his toe.

Sherlock rose an eyebrow at John, straightening up. “What’s gotten into you?”

John shoved Sherlock. “What’s gotten into ME? You disappeared! You were gone for three years! You were FAKING it, even though you KNEW it would kill me!”

 

Lost and insecure  
You found me, you found me  
Lying on the floor,  
Surrounded, surrounded  
Why'd you have to wait?  
Where were you? Where were you?  
Just a little late  
You found me, you found me

 

“I think you’re being a bit melodramatic, John, you’re perfectly alive- it didn’t kill you, of co-” Sherlock began defending himself.

“Sherlock, I tried killing myself! Don’t pretend like you didn’t know, or like you didn’t expect it, or consider it, or-” John was suddenly overwhelmed by his feelings.

“John, you’re making a scene.” he said coldly.

“You abandoned me, damn it! You didn’t even stay around long enough to-”

“To what?” Sherlock cut him off.

 

In the end, everyone ends up alone  
Losing her, the only one who's ever known  
Who I am, who I'm not, who I wanna be  
No way to know how long she will be next to me.

 

John held his tongue, eyes scanning Sherlock’s face for any kind of emotion- any sign to remind John that this wasn’t completely in vain. He was only assured that Sherlock wouldn’t care or reciprocate.

“Never mind, Sherlock. Let’s just go home. Mrs. Hudson is worried about us both by now.” he answered without conviction.

“No, John, it’s clearly something that’s important to you, so why don’t you just get it out of your system?” Sherlock asked, the trace of concern in his voice so subtle that John wondered if he was only imagining things.

 

Lost and insecure  
You found me, you found me  
Lying on the floor  
Surrounded, surrounded  
Why'd you have to wait?  
Where were you? Where were you?  
Just a little late  
You found me, you found me

 

“Because you’re just going to be a massive prick about it if I tell you.” John said, looking away as Sherlock’s intense gaze began to make him uncomfortable. “You always are.”

Sherlock sighed. “I already know what it is, so you might as well tell me.”

“Sure you do.”

“It was worth a shot.” Sherlock answered, a small grin creeping into his voice.

“If I tell you, you’re not allowed to give me any sort of shit for it for the rest of the night, Sherlock.” John told him, putting his hands in his pockets. “Alright?”

“Alright.” he agreed.

“Well.” John said, pausing for a few moments. “I’m in love with you.”

Sherlock blinked, and John relished the look of surprise on Sherlock’s face, a rush of victoriousness replacing a little bit of John’s dignity.

“Oh, well-” Sherlock blinked again, clearly trying to take in the severity of that statement. He looked at John for a second. “I’m glad.” he said before hooking his fingers in John’s belt loop, a smirk on the lips that he pressed against John’s.

 

Early morning, the city breaks.  
I've been callin' for years and years and years and years,  
And you never left me no messages, you never sent me no letters.  
You got some kinda nerve taking all I want,

 

John mmphed in protest, pushing Sherlock away. “What are you doing?”

Sherlock looked bewildered. “You just told me you were in love with me. I was responding.”

“You were being a prick.” John replied coolly. “Damn it, Sherlock, the whole point of me telling you was to keep you from taking advantage of me and then you went and-”

“I wasn’t taking advantage of you, John.” he said, shaking his head.

“Then what do you call that?”

“What do I call what?” Sherlock sounded genuinely confused, which only bothered John more.

“THAT.”

“I was kissing you.” The way Sherlock said it made it seem as though the kiss was the most ordinary thing in the world.

“And who gave you the right to-”

“John.” he interrupted, lowering his head so that there was less distance between their lips. “I told you, I was responding.”

 

Lost and insecure  
You found me, you found me  
Lyin' on the floor  
Where were you? Where were you?  
Lost and insecure  
You found me, you found me  
Lyin' on the floor  
Surrounded, surrounded  
Why'd you have to wait?  
Where were you? Where were you?  
Just a little late  
You found me, you found me  
Why'd you have to wait?  
To find me, to find me.

 

“What kind of bloody response was that supposed to be?!”

“It was obvious. Even you can’t possibly be this stupid.” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes and straightening again, putting his hands in his coat pockets.

“Yeah, thanks.” John answered, obviously upset. “There’s no way you were saying you feel the same way, Sherlock. You don’t feel anything.”  
Sherlock stared at John for a moment. “Interesting.” he looked away before saying, “How about we head back to the flat, then? Wouldn’t want Mrs. Hudson getting too worried.”

John shook his head, exhaling through his nose. “Right. Let’s go.”

They started home, John trailing behind Sherlock, cursing himself for acting like a lost puppy and for embarrassing himself for the hundredth time in front of Sherlock.

He should have known all along that if Sherlock could leave him alone for three years, there couldn’t be any emotional attachment.


End file.
